I Spy
by AshenMoon42
Summary: The house on the corner burns, the locals wonder, and Peter Pettigrew meets his employers. / / drabble


**Beauxbatons, year 7**

**Writing school drabble / introductions / prompt: [setting] a pub in the early morning**

**Wordcount: 671 (w/o AN)**

**(For this challenge we had to write a 500-900 words introduction to a story. In my mind, this becomes a long story about Peter's experiences spying for Voldemort, with a split narrative, so some stuff from the other side too.)**

**.**

**I SPY**

**.**

The house on the corner was burning.

The whine of sirens hung in the air and the flashing lights bathed the sides of the pub in blue. The whole village was gathered just outside the entrance, pint glasses in hand, eyes wide with drink but not too clouded to miss the smoke spiralling into the air above them, or the vivid flames licking the sky.

"Who even lived there?" One man asked, thick West Country accent slurred from the drink.

Another piped up, "It was that woman, weren't it? With the weird mates and the long 'air."

Murmurs of agreement. "There was always them flashes from 'er windows. I reckon she's blown 'erself up with some science thingy or something."

"My mam always said she were a witch. Thass why she wears them dresses and has that devil cat."

The others laughed. "Ark at 'e! 'Ow much have you had, shag? Must be betwaddled from the cider."

"But she had a babby, didn't she? Where's that to?"

"Let's hope it weren't in the house. I don't reckon nothing got out of there."

"Well, the firemen can sort it out. They got here dreckly. Let's get back to our drinks, alright? I could do with another."

And they traipsed inside, dragging various nearly-immobile friends behind them.

Once the drunkards were gone, only two were left outside, and they wore matching dark cloaks with long hoods trailing down their backs. They watched the dancing flames, mesmerised.

From behind, they heard laughter and orders for more drinks and more discussion about the crazy woman who had lived on the corner. In front, only the early-morning stars and the warmth from the fire brushing their faces.

"Another Order member," said the first of the pair, her voice carrying a tone of humour.

Just an hour before she'd been dancing in that house, laughing above the body of the woman, watching the blood creep down from the fatal wound on her temple.

"Can't be too many left, can there?" The second's voice was gruffer.

He had stood in stony silence as his colleague had twirled, killing the others in the house (the elderly mother and father and their cat) with sharp precision, and not lingering to watch them fade.

"We'll ask Pettigrew. He's a funny little man, but … well, look at it. That's a work of art, that is."

They spoke of the wreck; the world was their canvas and the people were their paint, and the Dark Lord himself was their great and terrible muse. The green symbol floating above, the Death Eaters liked to think of their curling signature, scrawled at the top as an afterthought in its shining glory.

"It was about time, too. We've been waiting to get McKinnon for a while now."

"Oh, don't admit you didn't look at her in school."

He bristled. "Shut up, Bellatrix."

"Why don't you, Malfoy? You're the one who brought her up in the first place."

"She just died," he said. "And we're talking about the burning ruin of her house. How can I possibly _not _bring her up?"

A _crash_ as a beam fell from the smouldering roof into the flames below. It spat sparks into the air, and they reached their zenith before spiralling back to the ground in a fiery cascade.

Bellatrix huffed, her breath twisting in the air. "Let's go inside. It's freezing out here."

"But the muggle rabble are inside, and-"

"I'm cold, Lucius, and it's three in the morning, and I want to sit down. Are you one to refuse a lady her rest?"

He rolled his cold blue eyes and opened the door to let her through.

Behind them, the fire consumed Marlene McKinnon's house. A glowing skull-and-snake, invisible to muggles, hovered in the sky above.

They waited only ten minutes before Peter Pettigrew slid into the booth, worrying his lip with a pair of large front teeth.

Bellatrix smiled. "Well done, Peter. We'll certainly find a use for you." She leaned forward eagerly. "Now, where next?"

* * *

**Could be continued once the comp is over. We'll see.**

* * *

**WEST COUNTRY DIALECT**

**West country is generally the counties of Cornwall, Devon, Somerset and Dorset. In stereotypes, these are cider-drinking pirates, smugglers, fishermen and farmers, who are all a little simple.**

**Babby - baby**

**Dreckly - directly/soon**

**Shag - friend**

**Ark at 'e - listen to him (as in, wth is he saying, haha that's funny)**

**Betwaddled - like confuddled, but better**


End file.
